The Road to Love (20 page)

Kate drew in a long draft of air, held it until her sobs subsided. “I expect things will work out now that I've arranged for Doyle to represent him.”

Sally dropped to the nearest chair. “Doyle? And he agreed?”

Kate looked out the window. “With certain conditions.”

“Such as?”

She jerked her gaze back to Sally, her eyes stinging with tears she would not release. “You'll be pleased to know I've taken your advice and agreed to marry Doyle. I've agreed to sell the farm.” She clamped her lips shut, widened her eyes. She didn't want Sally to know how helpless she felt.

Sally gave her narrow-eyed study. “You agreed to marry him so he'd defend Hatcher?”

Kate nodded defiantly.

Finally Sally looked away, glanced upward as if exasperated.

Kate allowed herself to relax enough to sucked in a full breath.

“I wanted you to marry him,” Sally said, “because I wanted you to be happy.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “I don't want you to be miserable.”

Kate blinked back tears. “I'm sure I'll appreciate the finer things of life.”

Sally nodded. Suddenly she laughed. “I plan to be the first to visit you in your big house. You could serve me tea in the garden.”

Kate pasted on a smile. “Won't that be fun?” But her gaze went to the vegetable garden she had labored over, the emerging potato plants to which she'd carried bucket after bucket of water. How often Hatcher had shown up to help her. She'd let herself dream of sharing the harvest with him.

Now she would likely have to abandon the garden. She couldn't imagine Doyle thinking it worth his time or hers to tend it. Perhaps new owners would reap the benefit.

She lifted her teacup to her mouth but couldn't swallow the liquid.

“S
omeone wants to see you.” The deputy called through the closed door.

Hatcher lay on the hard cot counting again the cracks in the ceiling and reciting scripture. “Not entertaining today.” He'd informed the sheriff he didn't care to see Kate. He didn't want her coming in, pushing at his disinterest, making him think of things he might want if he had a different life. He wanted to be left alone so he could forget. But Kate was a stubborn woman. Every day she came, demanding to see him. Every day he steadfastly refused. He'd learned to cover his ears against her pleas through the heavy door but despite every effort to be unaffected by her visits he couldn't help smile at the sound of her alternately arguing and begging the sheriff to let her in.

“It ain't your lady friend and it's ‘extremely important.'”

“Not interested.” He lifted a lazy hand and squished a bug on the wall.

A scuffle sounded on the other side of the door and then Kate's friend, Sally Remington, pushed her way in. He'd seen her a few times when she visited Kate. Met her once when she accompanied Kate to the field with cold water for him.

“She wouldn't take no for an answer.” The portly deputy stood helplessly in the open door.

Hatcher sighed as quietly as the spider climbing toward the window ledge. The deputy didn't know how to handle forceful women but at least he'd never been on duty when Kate stormed the place. Otherwise she would have bowled right over him. He could thank God and the sheriff that hadn't happened. Seeing Kate would make his self-control scramble like the fly buzzing in crazy circles over his head.
He that hath no rule over his own spirit is like a city that is broken down, and without walls
. Proverbs twenty-five, verse twenty-eight.

He figured Kate had sent her friend and flicked a blank look her direction. “Sorry, can't offer you a chair.”

“This won't take long.”

He snorted. “Good. 'Cause I'm short on sociability, too.” But long on time which was proving to be his undoing. He'd spent many hours and years with no company but his own thoughts. He'd filled them with observations of nature and his fellow man. He'd filled them with God's word. It had been pleasant enough. Not so this time. With nothing to do but think, he couldn't keep stop himself from remembering every minute he'd spent with Kate. He could recall every gesture—the way she rubbed a spot on her cheek when she was stressed, the way she looked over the land with such pride and sometimes worry. The way she smiled at her children, her eyes brimming with love. He knew her scent whether hot and dusty after doing the chores or sweet with lilac-scented toilet water as she left for church. He knew the way her eyes lingered on him. Knew what she wanted. How she'd built him into her dreams.

It could never be.
Flee also youthful lusts: but follow righteousness, faith, charity, peace, with them that call on the Lord out of a pure heart.
Two Timothy two, verse twenty-two. He would flee the rest of his days in order to ensure Kate lived a life of peace.

Mrs. Remington cleared her throat, brought him back to the here and now. “I'm not here for a social visit.”

“Now that we've got that straight.”

She stared at him long enough for him to wonder what she wanted and how long he'd have to wait until she told him.

“What do you think about Kate?”

He managed to hide the surprise jolting through his veins. What kind of question was that? “I think she's hardworking, determined and a good mother.”

“That's not what I asked. What do
you
think of her?”

He closed his eyes, thought to be grateful the woman couldn't see his face. Stilled his features to reveal none of the pain scrapping his insides. The things he thought of Kate couldn't be expressed in simple words; they would require the whole sky as parchment, the oceans full of ink to even contain a fraction of what he felt. “She's hardworking, determined and a good mother.” His hard-edged words scratched his throat in passing.

“Hatcher, I have to know if you care about her.”

Care? A word too small to carry what he felt. “Why?”

“Would you stand by and let something or someone hurt her?”

He'd face two grizzlies and a mountain lion all at the same time if they threatened her. He stared at the pocked ceiling. Reality was, his situation wasn't conducive to bear wrestling. He snorted. “No. I'd walk out of here and stop them. Right through the bars. Quick as could be.” He laughed, a bitter hollow sound.

“Well, she's done something really stupid and as far as I can see, you're the only one who can stop her.”

“Right. Step aside. I'll be on my way.” But his nerves tensed. “What did she do?”

“She's so determined to see you get a fair trial, she's hired a lawyer.”

The skin on the back of his neck tightened. “Who?”

“Doyle.”

He made an explosive sound and turned toward the wall. How would that insure a fair trial? He had been set up by the man.

“That's not the worst of it.”

He continued to stare at the wall.

He didn't want to hear.

He couldn't stand not to know.

He wanted to forget Kate, forget he'd ever met her. Forget how she'd made him feel alive and whole. Made him briefly forget the specter of his past.

But he would never forget her. And in order to have even a pretense of peace, he had to make certain things were well with her.

“Tell me.”

“She promised to sell the farm and marry him if he would.”

“She what?” He jerked to his feet and in two steps faced the woman, wished he could bend the bars and walk out, put an end to Kate's stupidity. What a crazy, stubborn, adorable woman. “That's the stupidest thing I ever heard.”

Sally nodded vigorously. “I agree, even though I used to think Doyle was the man she needed. But she's miserable. Doing her best to hide it because she's prepared to go through with it for your sake. What can we do about it?”

He ground around, strode the two steps to the wall and slammed his palm into the cold surface. He let his head drop and stared at the floor. By hanging around too long he'd brought this upon her. This was exactly the reason he didn't want Kate involved. He feared she'd get hurt though he hadn't guessed she'd do this.

He had to prevent her following through with this terrible decision.

There was only one thing he could think to do. The one thing that had saved his life in the past. He'd vowed he'd never go back, but for Kate he'd face anything.

He sucked air past his hot throat and returned to the bars. “Got paper and pencil?”

Sally opened her handbag and pulled out both.

“Write this down.” He gave the name and address of a man. “Contact him and tell him what's happening.”

Sally tucked the paper away. “I'll send a telegram straight away.”

Hatcher gripped the bars long after she left. Would the man still be there? Would he help? Not that Hatcher deserved help. He deserved punishment, condemnation and judgment. But Kate did not understand what she'd agreed to. Doyle would try and control her. She'd be miserable trying to make herself happy.

God, keep Kate from doing something she'll regret the rest of her life.

 

Two days later Johnny Styles marched into the sheriff's office. Even before the outer door closed behind him, Hatcher heard his strident ringing voice and started to grin. He'd come.

The door to the cell area opened and Johnny strode in. He'd aged since Hatcher last saw him. His hair had turned silver, his face developed more lines. But he still carried an air of authority that made men jump to attention when he entered a room. His suit jacket looked freshly pressed, his trousers sharply creased down the center. He looked as if he'd walked out of the tailor's shop, not spent many hours traveling west.

Hatcher scratched his elbow and sniffed. Sleeping and living in the same set of clothes for days, sharing his space with assorted vermin hadn't given Hatcher a chance for much grooming. He'd been allowed to shave only twice. He could smell himself coming and going. Course in a cell this size they were the same thing. He brushed at his trousers, pulled at his shirtsleeves knowing nothing he did would improve his looks.

“Well, boy. Here we are again.” Johnny stuck his hand through the bars and shook Hatcher's hand, seemingly unmindful of how soiled Hatcher was. “How do you manage to get yourself into these situations?”

Hatcher shrugged. “I had nothing to do with this one.” Except he'd hung around too long. If he'd headed down the road that first day, none of this would have happened. Kate would not be in such an unthinkable position.

“I got a detailed account from the woman who contacted me. I'll start digging as soon as I leave here. We'll find the truth.”

“Thank you. I didn't want to bother you but—” Hatcher told him what Kate had done. “I don't want her marrying that man.”

“You interested in her yourself?”

Hatcher had learned long ago to tell this man the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. “Very interested, but nothing can come of it.”

“Why not?”

His gut gave an almighty and painful twist. Why not? Because he didn't deserve a woman like Kate and she didn't need or deserve someone like him. But he put a shrug in his voice as he answered Johnny. “Because of who I am. What I did. Have you forgotten?”

Johnny leaned against the wall and studied Hatcher long and steady. Hatcher returned the look.

“You're still blaming yourself for what happened? Even though it was an accident?”

Hatcher knew the truth about how he felt, the anger burning against his tormentors. “My temper was to blame.”

“No more than the boys who taunted you.”

“I threw the first punch.”

“But not the last. And you didn't make Jerry fall and hit his head.”

Hatcher scrubbed his hand over his stubbled chin. Ten years had not erased the guilt he felt. He doubted another ten years would suffice. He was guilty of a man's death, would spend the rest of his life as a vagabond, making sure it never happened again. “I am not without blame.”

“You need to forgive yourself, boy, and stop running from your life. Seems God's sent you a reason to do it before it's too late.”

“How do I forgive myself?” He shook himself. “Besides, I can't let myself care about anyone. I'm afraid what my anger might do. Who I might hurt.”

“Have you talked to this woman—Kate? Asked her what she thinks? How she feels?”

“No. Never.”

“Hatcher, God forgives. So should you.”

What Hatcher wanted, or deserved didn't matter. Freeing Kate from her promise would suffice. “Just get me out of this if you can. And please, go talk to Kate. Persuade her to give up her foolish agreement.”

“I'll do my best on both counts.”